Wicked Bloodline
by Sikaya
Summary: Vermin have always been the enemies of the Redwallers. So what happens when their fate depends on the choices of a young rat and fox? Rated M for violence.
1. What Hunger Does

**Introduction: **_This is my very first fanfiction I am writing for this site and I'm sure it is terrible. Hopefully that is just self-doubt and this story isn't really that bad. Obviously this is a Redwall fanfiction, and it has been years since I have read any of the books or watched the cartoons so my Brian Jacques Speak is way off. This is why I am dreading doing any moles...yikes. If you're still willing to read this story after the introduction, I salute you and I hope I haven't let you down._

The half moon's light was shyly reaching through the tops of the trees of Mossflower Woods, revealing the band of weasels and rats trudging through the night, guarding a cart of supplies, and were ever watchful despite the silence of the forest. A ruffle from the cart caused alarm to the group and they all held their weapons up, aimed upon the cart.

The cart was untouched, undisturbed by the paws of any but a soft breeze played with the corners of the covering. The weasel leader was not satisfied and ordered the rats pulling the cart to yank off the blanket covering. The rats obeyed and everybeast was ready to stab into the culprit, but there was nothing there but food, weapons, and armour.

"It be jus' the win' then, eh?" The leader tapped his furry chin but nodded and motioned for the group to head out once more. The serenity of Mossflower continued and the band of vermin relaxed a great deal. There was nothing out there not harm them this night, they could make it back to their hideout by morning and perhaps even snack a little on the way. Everybeast was thinking of the glorious food underneath that blanket and how rich it would taste in their hungry maws.

One rat licked his lips in anticipation and rubbed his hands greedily, but he would have to wait not doubt till the leader allowed them all to have a quick bite to eat. Oh but how hungry he was! They had been surviving on the rations that ran out days ago, but this food was for the entire army. But he was so hungry!

"Cravin' some of that food aren't ye?" came a whisper into the rat's ear. The rat yelped and turned to the speaker to see one of his one of his companions, cloaked in black with his face hidden in the cowl and shadow. The rat licked his lips and a nodded. "Aye, that I am."

The rat's companion sniffed the air near the cart. "Come mate; let us have a small bite. Me stomach is startin' to howl. Mightin' be givin' us away. What d'ye say then?" The rat shook his head furiously, his eyes wide in surprise. Was this creature willing to invoke the wrath of the Ironpaws, the leader of the group, just for a bite of food?

"Ye crazy? What d'ye think that mad ol' weasel d'to us'n if'n he be catchin' food in our paws." The rat hissed at his cloaked companion. The cloaked figure held out his gloved paws in apology but then looked back at the cart, and his stomach growled softly.

"Not fair it is, that ol' weasel has been eating the stuff but not us, not even a piece." The cloaked figure complained. The rat looked surprised once more and eyed the leader ahead. "Ironpaws 'as been eatin' from the cart?" the rat whispered to his companion. The cloaked figure paused and patted the rat on the back. "Ye have not been noticin' it then? Aye, ol' Ironpaws has been takin' more than a fair share, he has. Seen it meself, I be thinkin' if he could d'it so could we."

Filled with anger, the rat nodded his head. "Aye, we should be getting' some food too, why should we be starvin' while that weasel be stayin' nice and cozy." The cloaked companion clapped the rat on the back. "That be the spirit, mate."

The hungry rat slipped a paw underneath the cart and felt around for something to eat, but and sharp whack on his rump made him jump and squeal. The rat hopped up and down and turned to face the weasel leader with a grim expression on his face.

"An' jus' what d'ye think yer doin', scum?" the weasel asked, snarling. The rat looked around nervous and saw that his cloaked companion had not fled but stayed steadfast at his side. The weasel followed the rat's gaze and saw the defiant figure, a rather unfamiliar figure.

The weasel was about to question the cloaked creature but was interrupted by the rat he had whacked. "Ye have been taken food an' we want some too. Why should we be starvin' while ye stayed fed?" That statement drew the attention of others. They all glared at Ironpaws and he hissed at them in return. "Lies, ye be sayin' lies an' no more. Who told ye these lies!" the weasel grabbed the rat by the neck held him above the ground, his legs kicking, trying to touch ground. "Or did ye make them up yerself?"

The rat shook his head wildly. "No, no, h-he told me!" the rat pointed at the cloaked figure and Ironpaws tossed him aside. The weasel pulled out a wicked whip and eyed the figure. He raised the whip but the figure cried out, "Don't be callin' me a liar, ye've been stealin' the food, why else would ye say no to our requestin' for food, eh?"

Others in the group looked at one another and agreed. Ironpaws hadn't let them eat any and if he was as hungry as them, why wouldn't he?

"Ye want to keep it all for yerself!" screamed one of the vermin. With that, slanderous cries rung out and all the vermin attacked the mighty Ironpaws. Hunger and betrayal filled them with battle rage, enough battle rage to blind them of the cloaked figure digging through their supplies and slipping food into its shadows.

"'Ey! What's he doin'?" came a cry and all turned to look at the cart. Everybeast spotted the thieving creature and moved in on the cloaked figure. The creature, realising his dilemma was quick to react, he jumped down from the cart, evading a swinging claymore and a furious spear, and sped off into the depths of the woods.

"Gah!"

The cloaked figure was hit in the back with an arrow that sent him sprawling to the ground. The figure groaned and was yanked up roughly by the meaty paws of the leader weasel. "Well, well. I knew ye didn't look right, little thiefy. Let us be seein' who ye are."

The weasel jerked the creature roughly, sending the hood flying back to reveal the red fur, big ears, a long, slender snout and unpleasantly cruel eyes. "Get your paws off me, weasel!" the fox snapped angrily at the face of his attacked but the weasel simply knocked the smaller creature into a tree.

"Enough of that now, foxy. Ye be stealin' from Grimpike and Strongal. An' fer that ye be answerin' to 'em." The weasel said with a sneer. The fox's eyes filled with terror and his voice cracked with fear as he pleaded. But they fell on deaf ears as Ironpaws dragged the terrified fox behind him. He motioned for the vermin to once again head out, however; this time the forest was not so quiet for the pleas of mercy filled the Mossflower night.

Grimpike paced around the underground chamber he and Strongal called their "audience chamber". Food was running low and moral was dropping. The band they sent out to raid for supplies was late and Grimpike was impatient.

Strongal watched the rat aimlessly pace around the chamber and he smiled with amusement. "Be at ease Grimpike, they will be here soon." The rat shot an angry look at the stoat he called partner. They had spent weeks building up this army and to have it destroyed because food was low would cause the rat to do no less then jump off a cliff. But Strongal was right, they had been gone for a long while, they could not been gone much longer.

Suddenly, a nervous messenger burst into the room, kneeled and stammered his news. "Ironpaws has returned an' he says he was attacked by a fox who is now his prisoner." Strongal smiled deviously, he always enjoyed prisoners, the torture, the blood, and the screams. Grimpike saw the look on his partner's face and pitied the fox but the fact that the red-furred fiend had caused delay soon wiped such feelings away. "Bring 'im here!" Grimpike commanded. The messenger hesitated for a second, "Now!" Grimpike barked sending the creature tripping on his own tail.

Minutes later, the struggling fox was dragged in by Ironpaws. The weasel tossed the bound fox at the feet of Strongal and Grimpike and fox shook his head and looked up dazedly. There was a sharp intake of air when he saw who was standing before him. The creatures he believed were just rumours floating around the vermin world but now it was evident they were real. The fox controlled his fear, he knew begging would not aid him; most likely it would only make things worse.

"What shall we do with you, foxy?" Strongal darkly chuckled. He grabbed the fox by the scruff of the neck and the fox's belly let out a soft growl of hunger. Strongal smirked and lifted the young fox off the ground so they were face to face. "Hungry are you? Well so are my creatures. Perhaps you can help with that."

The fox controlled the fear in his voice. His demeanor was serious and calm but inside his heart was screaming. "What do you mean by that, sire?"

Strongal cackled, they always got so respectful when their life was in danger. "Why, do hungry vermin ever ask what is it they are eating?" The fox let out a gasp, all control of his fear lost. The powerful stoat tossed the fox back to Ironpaws. "Take him to the kitchens."

The fox struggled, begged, and pleaded. "No please! I'll do anything! I beg of you, mercy, no! I'll do anything, sire, I could be of great service. No please, no!"

Strongal broke into laughter and sat down, slamming his fists against the wall. Grimpike grimaced, as the fox disappeared into the halls of the underground hideout. He wasn't planning on eating any meals produced tonight.

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Dweller of St Ninian's

Azragar sighed, his paws ached from washing the numerous dishes the creatures of Grimpike and Strongal had dirtied and he finally had finished. The fox sat down and got to work on drying the dishes with an exhausted huff. It took him hours to complete the first task; this would be just a tedious. But Azragar was thankful, despite all his complaining. A life of servitude was not as bad as being eaten.

Strongal quietly entered the kitchen and watched the young fox go about his duties. "You should have seen your face, when I said you was to be eaten'." the stoat chuckled. Azragar looked over his shoulder and spotted the stoat. The fox bowed deeply before going back to drying the forever scummy dishes.

"Greetings sire." Azragar said passively.

The stoat took a grimy apple from the table and began to munch on it thoughtlessly. The story about the fox that Ironpaw had related to him intrigued him. The fox was a master manipulator, but a coward. He would be easy to control and he appeared to have no talent with any sort of weapon. Strongal took another apple and held it out towards Azragar.

"Come, foxy, take a break. It's time to discuss your fate." Strongal grinned darkly. Azragar paused and eyed the apple before setting down the plate he was mauling with a rag and accepted the apple from the tyrant. Azragar took a bite into the apple and immediately wanted to vomit; the putrid flesh of the fruit was rotten and fetid, but Azragar swallowed, not wanting to offend Strongal and it was something to eat which he desperately needed.

Strongal chuckled as he watched the fox struggle to swallow. The stoat waited for the creature to swallow before he began to speak. "I can see you are a clever one, an' I am not about to waste that brain in the stomachs of me soldiers. You said you would be valuable," Strongal took another bite out of the apple sending frothy foam dribbling down his jaw, "which is why I spared your life. I want those skills, an' if you are loyal an' serve me well, I shall reward you with riches beyond your wildest dreams."

The fox studied the tyrant, there was no lie, why would Strongal lie? There was no reason to unless he was still continuing his sick joke. But what other choice did Azragar have but to trust the vermin. The fox set the apple on the table and bowed gracefully. "I'm yours."

"Good, good. But first I must test your loyalty." Azragar looked up, a worried look in his eyes. He knew there was going to be a test but he feared it may cost him the very thing he was trying to save.

His life.

"What is this test, milord?" the fox asked his ears flattened with worry. Strongal shook his head, knowing what the fox feared. "No worries, you life is not in danger, however your sanity is."

Azragar tilted his head a little, now curious. "How so, sire?" Strongal chuckled and he motioned for Azragar to follow him, the fox obeyed now wondering if it would have been better to be eaten.

* * *

Strongal and Azragar walked down the tunnel halls of the hideout the stoat affectionately called The Kingdom. It was a nothing more than a series of large chambers connected by tunnels but it was all controlled by the stoat and his rat partner. But it was where he was no less than a god; all who lived within the halls were under his complete control.

The stoat took a sharp turn down one corridor and the fox was quick to follow. And there before him was a small room with a thin cot that had a raggedy blanket and a torn-up pillow. On top of the cot was a mangy looking rat-child. Azragar raised an eyebrow then looked over at Strongal to explain further on what his test was, and how it related to this small rat boy.

"Raggabum!" Strongal barked. The rat yelped and hopped off his cot and cowered as the stoat approached then he noticed the fox and crossed his arms. "What is that?" the young rat asked, eyeing Azragar up and down. The little rat smirked and ran over to the fox, began yanking his tail roughly, all the while laughing nastily. Azragar snarled and quietly growled but did nothing against the boy.

"He's your new caretaker." Strongal said, with a sly grin. Raggabum shook his head in disbelief over what the stoat had said. "This creature is to be my caretaker? But I don't need one!" he protested. Strongal shot the boy a severe, threatening look that silenced him immediately.

"Your father thinks you do." The shoulders of the rat dropped and his glared at Azragar with clenched fists and mumbled. Strongal turned to leave the room but he stopped next to Azragar and pointed to the broom in corner. "You are also to discipline him, fox." Azragar eyed the broom and grinned cruelly. Raggabum noticed the look and the broom and gulped. He tried to escape but Strongal blocked his way.

Azragar snatched the broom and started towards the rat menacingly. Raggabum yelped and tried to evade the fox but Azragar grabbed the rat by the scruff of his neck. The fox laughed wickedly and thwacked the child on the backside and the rat squealed.

Strongal left the pair, heading back to his quarters to tell Grimpike about his son's new mentor, and enjoying the cries of pain from the horrid little Raggabum. "Have fun."

* * *

Raggabum sniffled and sat in the corner of the room, rubbing the tears from his eyes. Azragar stood over the child, his arms crossed, a sneer on his cruel face and his unpleasant eyes twinkling. "You ought to have some respect for me now, rat. Unless you want another beating?"

The rat shook his head and looked up at the fox with new found feelings. Whether they were respect or hate, he was unsure of himself. "What's your name?" the child asked, wiping tears from his eyes. The fox sat down on the floor but did not release his grip on the broom, much to Raggabum's dismay.

"Azragar. And yours is Raggabum correct?" Raggabum shook his head and banished the last of the tears. The rat boy rested his head in his hands and studied the fox. "It's just Ragga and I've never seen you before. Where are you from?"

"I'm a native to Mossflower Woods." the fox said bluntly, ignoring the insolent little rat's correction. Ragga snarled rudely and huffed. "Fine, where did you live in Mossflower?"

Azragar sighed and began to massage his legs; they were sore from his recent ordeals and he was sure he would collapse if he tried to stand. "St. Ninian's. Or what's left of it."

Ragga reached out and grabbed the fox's cloak. "Is this all you have?" the rat asked. Azragar snatched the dark cloak away from the grubby paws. "No," he snapped, "all my family heirlooms are still at St. Ninian's."

The rat's eyes lit up. "What if I got them for you? I bet you aren't allowed to leave and roam on your own and by the time you can some other creature is going to make off with your precious items."

The fox sighed, knowing the rat wasn't intending on doing anything without reward. "And what is it you want in return?"

Ragga thought for a moment, scratching his furry head. Azragar watched as fleas hopped off Ragga's head and leaped away. It was disgusting, but rats were never one for hygiene. Finally, a hopeful gleam entered Ragga's eyes. "If I get your things, you can never beat me with the broom again."

Cruel eyes glowed and a sinister smile found its way onto the fox's face. "You have a deal, young rat."

* * *

It was early morning when Ragga crept out from the hidden hole in the ground and maneuvered his way skillfully through the forest to St. Ninian's. The burned down church was eerie and just as unpleasant as Azragar himself. There was just something not right about that fox, Ragga just had a sense, that there was an air of wickedness that preceded the fox himself. And that aura was embedded in the church ruins.

Ragga searched the ruins for the bundle that Azragar kept his belongings. Ragga rummaged about until he came across it. Curiosity however took over, and the rat unraveled the bundle and observed its contents. He touched the ancient weapons and held each one up to see it better in the early light.

A spear, a bow with quiver, throwing knives, and a bolas.

"Strange, these are his heirlooms?" But then Ragga spotted a wadded up multicolored cloth and he reached down to pick it up. He held it up and it unraveled itself to reveal as harlequin mask. The rat smiled and tried his best to rid it of its creases. "Now _this_ is an heirloom!"

Suddenly a cruel cackle filled the air, followed by the screams of pain. Ragga jolted up and looked around the church. The air was still and there was no sign of any living thing. Not even the song of a bird or the rustle of the trees could be heard. Something zoomed past Ragga's head and crashed into the wall with the clank of metal. Ragga ducked and crept towards the place where the impact had occurred.

There was nothing there.

Now terrified, Ragga wrapped the weapons and mask in the bundle again then rushed back to The Kingdom's entrance. This time he did not bother with stealth, just wanted to get away from the wicked spirits of St. Ninian's.

* * *

Azragar had sworn that he would not beat Ragga with the broom anymore, and he did not. So when Ragga asked questions about the heirlooms, Azragar whacked him with a wooden spoon from the kitchen so hard it snapped. Ragga swore revenge but it was an idle threat made by a furious child in pain.

"Azragar, to me!" came a harsh command from the quarters of Grimpike and Strongal. Azragar did not delay in answering the summons. He entered the audience chamber expecting both masters to be there but there was only Strongal, tossing daggers at the wall. "Come in and relax. We have much to do, my red-furred friend."

Azragar took a seat on the floor, his sinister eyes watching Strongal's body language. The stoat was not sending out any threatening vibes but he was making Azragar twitch with anticipation. Strongal saw the fox waiting, strode over, and sat down, facing the fox as an equal. "Have you ever heard of Marshank?"

Azragar nodded, he had heard of the place that was controlled by Badrang the Tyrant so very long ago. It was nothing but ruins now, what could Strongal be planning there?

Strongal locked eyes with Azragar. "We have rebuilt that marvelous place an' tomorrow, my closest creatures and I will move there. I want you to be my second in command at Marshank. I see how you handle Raggabum and I know you will be able to handle teaching a few rats and weasels to mind their places. What do you say, foxy?"

The fox considered the offer but his curiosity nagged him and he finally gave in to it. "Why are you going to Marshank?"


	3. What Nightmares Are Made Of

Ragga the rat held on tightly to the cloak of his fox caretaker, Azragar. He had convinced his father to allow him to go with Strongal and Azragar to the ruins of Marshank that was being rebuilt by Strongal's creatures. Ragga knew the history of the place and it sent shivers down his spine when he thought of all death that took place, so he surprised himself when he begged his father to let him go. The rat held closer to the fox and peered over the side at the earth so far below him. He squeaked and straightened up, so that his eyes were looking at the billowy, black cloak of Azragar.

He always hated flying on the backs of ravens. But it was the only way Strongal liked to travel; he was convinced it was the surest way to avoid being tracked. If anybeast argued against it, they soon found themselves either tied to the blackbird or falling to their deaths. Ragga had wanted to argue but a sharp beating from Azragar silenced the boy, Ragga wasn't sure if it was Azragar trying to protect him or if the fox was simple annoyed with Ragga's constant complaining.

Azragar, in truth, was no more thrilled to fly on the back of a raven enslaved by the mighty stoat, but he could see that he had no other option. The fox also found he had a taste for being in the skies; he enjoyed the sensation of freedom even if it did not last for long. The vermin reached their destination and landed within the walls of the ancient fortress, where the ravens were quickly taken into cages.

The young rat sat on top of some crates and watched the vermin of Marshank go about their business. Some were working, some were pretending to work, and some were very obviously sleeping on the job. Ragga, however, was more worried about the meeting between Strongal and Azragar. They had been very secret about what was said and no matter how hard Ragga tried to eaves drop; nothing could be heard from within the tiny room.

Disappointed, Ragga left behind his desire to spy on Azragar and went to find some new source of entertainment. He found a small piece of wall, that had crumpled off from either old age or when Marshank was destroyed, and began kicking it around. Ragga gave a powerful kick and sent the rock hurling into the back of a weasel. The vermin cringed and spun around to see who had sent the projectile at him.

Ragga dove behind a crate before the weasel turned and held his breath. He wasn't sure if anybeast would beat him as bad as Azragar did but he didn't want to find out. The weasel shrugged it off and continued his duties and Ragga sighed with relief then quickly left the scene.

The sun began to dip below the horizon and Ragga rushed to the barracks hoping to get the best sleeping spot, when he reached the building he found they were still repairing the area and all the vermin were sleeping in any old place. Ragga's shoulders slumped and his mood was visibly dark. The young rat searched for a decent spot but the only thing he could find was next to the raven cage. Their beaks were muzzled so their squawking would not bother him but their giant, menacing figures would. Ragga pushed together some crates and created a little shelter that would block out the site of the birds and offer some form of warmth and security.

After a session of stretching, scratching and yawning, the rat found a comfortable position and was soon asleep. What felt like moments later, the screech of a metal door disturbed the young rat from his slumber. Upset and dazed, the child poked his head out of his crate fort and peered into the darkness. Moonlight revealed the sleeping forms of other vermin but it was a shadow over the moon that answered Ragga's question.

Azragar was on the back of a raven with a chain-link leading a small group of blackbirds. Ragga rubbed his eyes, not believing what he was seeing. Was Azragar fleeing? Ragga needed to tell Strongal, he would have his revenge of Azragar for the beatings tenfold. Eager to rat on the fox, Ragga leaped up in excitement and smacked his head against the crate he used as a roof with a resounding _crack_! The little rat saw a burst of stars and colours appear before his eyes and he collapsed unconscious.

* * *

Azragar soared over Mossflower Woods with a look of determination etched on his cruel face. He had his weapons on him and he adorned the harlequin mask, hoping it would hide any distinguishing features. Soon he came upon his target. The towers rose in the sky and the red stone of its walls were a beacon in the night.

"Redwall." the fox hissed with distaste. For too long had the dwellers within those walls lived in peace, they had destroyed his life and he now knew the perfect way to make them pay.

As silent as death, Azragar landed his ravens in the orchard, hiding them within the dark greenery. He chained them to a tree and left them as he slinked off towards the main building. He looked for a window but all were closed but when he spotted the tower, determination kept him from realising the insanity of his actions. The fox began to scale up the ancient walls of the abbey, higher and higher he went and nearer came the top.

When he was more than halfway, the height of the tower began to sink in. The fox's head reeled and he braced himself against the wall for support. Azragar's mind cleared and he continued his climb up, forcing himself to focus up and not look down.

Finally his paw came in contact with the ledge and he hoisted himself through the small opening and rolled onto the floor of the tower. He laid there for a few moments, catching his breath then he felt around for a trap door. His paw came across the awkward wooden square with metal bits amongst the stone floor but he waited till his breathing eased and his head stopped spinning before he opened the door.

The horrible sensation dissipated and Azragar yanked the cool metal handle which made the trap door groan in protest. Azragar stuck one foot down, feeling for the wood of a ladder. The roughness against the pads of his paw were unmistakable and he began his descend into the depths of the abbey.

* * *

With a great sigh, the young squirrelmaiden finally put the last of the children to bed. She slowly crept towards the door and softly opened it, slipped out, then gently closed it behind her. She let out a silent cheer and strutted to her sleeping quarters. Not worrying about waking any, she swung open the door to a storage room and felt around the darkness for the ladder. Once she took hold of it she quickly climbed up, wanting to hurry to bed.

Suddenly, something bushy slapped her in the face. It felt like a tail…a tail? The squirrel looked up and saw only darkness, but a closer inspection revealed two glowing, wicked eyes gleaming just above her. She gasped but reacted quickly by biting down on the tail just above her face. The intruder yelped jabbed her with the end of the spear. Before he used the tip, the squirrel leaped down and dashed for the door.

She exited the room and ran down the hall but before she could issue a cry of warning something warped itself around her neck and chocked the air from her. She tried to scream but before she even hit the ground, her world went dark.

* * *

_The shadow swept into the room, _

_The children were all fast asleep. _

_He worked quickly and quietly, _

_Blowing a powder over their dreaming heads,_

_The tying them up in bunches_

_He ripped them away from their beds_

_And put them on the back of horrid ravens_

_He took the limp maiden_

_And freed her neck of the bolas_

_Yet breathe still left her body_

_Though shallow and grave_

_The shadow left none behind _

_Who could tell the tale of that night's visitor_

_Off they soared into the night_

_Melting into the stars_

* * *

_Denathira…Denathira…Denathira!_

The squirrel opened one eye and found a familiar face peering over her. The mousemaiden smiled, seeing Denathira the squirrel awake and well. The squirrel however had other things then her health in mind.

"Clora…please tell me we are still at Redwall."

Clora shook her head and bit her lower lip. Denathira nodded, as if the answer was all too obvious. "I was afraid of that."

The squirrel sat up and rubbed her neck, it was sore and she could feel the burn from rope stinging ever so slightly. She looked around, she was in a hole in the ground for sure and when she peered up, she could see the iron bars above her. Denathira could also see the face of a rather mangy looking rat.

"Ha-ha! Looks like the fox got you good! Just you wait, you'll regret the day you were born when we're done with you!" the nasty little creature called down to them.

Denathira tightened her fists in anger; she was going to make a nasty remark when a shy tap on her shoulder drew her attention. A small hare boy held out a small pebble towards her and he had a sly grin on his face. Denathira snatched it away and took one look at the cackling rat. She aimed carefully and flung the rock with a surge of anger behind it and it blasted into the rat's nose.

"Gaaaah!" he screamed and clutched his snout in his paws. He wailed and rolled around till a swift kick in the ribs made him roll to one side and cower. Denathira and the rest of the prisoners looked up to see an evil looking fox staring back at them. Denathira recognised those eyes, she would never forget them.


	4. The Cage

_Sorry it took so long to post another chapter. I got so busy, it just slipped my mind. So special thanks to dyrisk and Volpecula for my first two reviews, those really gave me reason to take the time and write another chapter. So thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy Chapter 4._

Denathira was lying on her back, watching the clouds calmly appear and disappear from the small view she had of that ever-blue sky. It was as if nothing had changed, the world was still performing the way it always had. The sky had not turned to the colour of blood nor did the sun crack and shatter into a million tiny pieces. It was the way it had been back at Redwall.

Like nothing had changed.

"Do you know what this place reminds me of?" the soft voice of Clora asked. Denathira didn't take her eyes off the sky; she didn't even let the mousemaid know she had heard her. Clora however, did not let that stop her from speaking. "This place reminds me of one of the stories the Abbot told us. It was the origins of Martin the Warrior-"

Clora was interrupted by piece of hard, moldy bread hitting her on the top of the head. "Ow!" she rubbed the offended area and looked up to find the rat from before balancing on the bars, leering down at them.

The wicked little creature chuckled and rested his paws on his hips. "Look at you, think you're so great because you live behind a wall. And now you are in a hole like the worms you are! Hahaha!" the young rat began to jump from foot to foot clapping his paws. "You'll never forget the day you met me, Raggablood the Brave!"

"Who is this Raggablood?" came a sultry voice from behind. The young rat yelped and landed hard on the bars letting out a resounding scream. The Redwallers below let out roars of laughter that made the fallen rat growl with hate. "I thought your name was Raggabum…" the voice continued. The dismayed rat boy hissed down at the prisoners but they just laughed harder making remarks about his clumsiness and his awkward name.

"That is the strangest name my ears have ever heard!" "Poor rat and I thought we were the victims!" "His mum must have hated his fur if she named him that." "Who wants to guess who the _least_ favourite child is?"

Ragga didn't want to hear anymore, he gave the sultry fox a hurt look then glanced back at the Redwallers to give them one more insult. But then he spotted the mouse he had hit with the bread. She wasn't laughing or teasing him. She did not even look mad. Instead her face was calm and studious, evaluating him. Ragga blinked a few times in surprise, unsure of how to react. Instinctively he stuck out his tongue at the little mouse and sneered. Yet all she did was smile and sneer back.

Confused, Ragga hopped off the bars back to solid ground where he power-walked his way back to his little crate fortress by the crows where he felt that the blackbirds would protect him from sneering little mousemaids.

Azragar watched his young charge flee and shook his head in disgust. Rats. Cowardly wastes of fur, flesh, bone and blood in the fox's book. The steel-eyed fox turned away from the rat and gazed down at the terrified prisoners, terrified, except for that loud-mouthed squirrel and the dainty mouse-pest. Azragar already had a good idea of who would be giving him trouble if they got the chance.

"How have you been enjoying your stay at Marshank?" the cruel fox spat at the terrified woodlanders below. Clora's eyes widened. So she had been right about her comparison…but it was not much of a comparison anymore. Denathira scoffed, however, ignoring the mousemaid's reaction.

"Marshank? That place was destroyed long ago." The uppity squirrel remarked. The wicked fox just chuckled and shook his head.

His chuckling abruptly stopped and his golden amber eyes narrowed dangerously. "You have no idea of how close you are to a painful, slow death." Denathira was not shaken; she shook a fist up at the fox with an angry fire in her bright eyes. "And nasty works like you always get what's coming to them just you wait, fox!"

Azragar burst out laughing and barked down at the Redwallers. "Do you really think that dead warrior is going to come save you? Do you really think that that magic tapestry is going to lead your family to you? Think again, you silly maidens. You are lost to Redwall and the world. You belong to this cage now."

Before Denathira could respond to the red-furred fiend, he left as mysteriously as he had appeared. The raging squirrel began kicking the walls and cursing the dumb foxes who had spawned such a being as the likes of that steel-eyed kidnapper. Denathira slammed herself against the wall and sunk to the floor, dropping her head against her knees. Her shoulders had a slight tremor which told all those around Denathira, this was not the time to notice her.

After a few minutes, Denathira's shaking stopped, the others were uncertain if she had cried herself to sleep or she had simply taken care of her need to cry. Clora put a paw on her tall friend's shoulder and sat down by her side. "He will get what he deserves, you wait and see. And we will figure a way out of this. Just let old Martin work his magic."

The mousemaid winked at the squirrel who was peering at her over an elbow. Denathira smiled and nodded, agreeing with her thought she was full of doubt. What could a dead mouse do?

* * *

The moon was high in the sky as Ragga dashed from hiding spot to hiding spot, keeping a wary eye out for Azragar or any others who may punish him for getting close to the pit. The young rat kneeled at the edge of the pit and placed his paws on the bars so that he could look in.

He eyed the sleeping children, most of them younger than himself. But they were not who he was interested in. Soon his eyes spotted the sleeping mouse girl who had returned his sneer. Ragga took a piece of rock-hard bread out of his cloak pocket and began dropping little bits on the girl, making quiet noises to get her attention.

"Pssst, mouse. Hey mouse…psssst, wake up, mouse girl."

To Ragga's dismay she did not wake.

The rat's patience was worn within a few minutes and he took the rather large chunk of rock-like bread that was left and threw it down, smacking Clora right on her delicate snout. The mousemaid woke but she made no sound of surprise to Ragga's relief. She looked up to find the rat boy snarling and making a ghoulish face at her.

A ghoulish face that she could match with her own expressions of oddity.

The young rat huffed, he had not come here to play games with her, he wanted to frighten respect into her. But his faces were having quite the opposite effect, the more he tried to be scary, the more he made her giggle and retort with goofy faces.

Soon Ragga forgot why he was there in the first place and his scare tactics became a game. He would make a face then Clora would return it and they both fought fits of laughter. "So what's your name mousie?" he finally inquired, after a couple rounds of play.

The mouse maiden had to stop herself from laughing loudly as she answered. "Clora. And yours is Raggabum is it not?"

Ragga bit his lip to stop himself from insulting her. He was starting to like this Clora and didn't want her to stop playing with him. There were not many his age in the hordes after all. At least not that he had seen.

"It's just Ragga." he replied bluntly. Clora didn't giggle but simply nodded respectfully.

Suddenly, a piece of hard bread shot up from the hole and smacked into Ragga's head hard enough to make him collapse into an unconscious heap. Clora gasped and looked at Denathira, who was rolling another hard-bread with dirt packed onto it in case she had not gotten Ragga the first time.

"What are you doing?" Clora gasped. Denathira smiled deviously and tossed the clod aside, assured she had sufficiently subdued the pesky rodent above.

Denathira winked at Clora and pointed towards the sky. "We are getting out of here. Wake them up; I'll need them to get close to that door."

Clora shook her head in despair. "I am very sure it's locked."

The squirrel nodded. "I know it is, that is why your new friend there is going to give us the key."

* * *

The Redwallers were standing on each others' shoulders against one of the walls, strongest to weakest. Denathira sadly had landed herself at the bottom of the animal ladder and she felt silly, the squirrel should be the beast climbing not a baby mouse. But he was the smallest and they were traveling with many children who didn't know the hilt of a sword from the "pointy end".

Clora was the second strongest, thus she rested on Denathira's shoulders and found herself having to shout words of encouragement for the brave little child that was trying his very best to scurry up the living ladder and fetch the keys. She could hear the quiet mumbles and "ow"s that came from the little one stepping on somebeast's eye or into somebeast's' mouth. But thankfully no beast raised their voice in anger or protest. Clora had to be proud of the children, they were being so brave.

"I goth ith! I goth ith!" cried the baby mouse. _Shhhhhhh!_ The ladder hissed at the infant followed by quiet remarks of congratulations. Denathira steadied herself and tried to push them all a little higher.

"Now quick unlock the door!" she quietly commanded. There was a pause from the young mouse and she gasped when he responded. "With a pieth of old cheeth?"

Denathira bit her lip in despair. "Not cheese! Keys! Look for keys on him."

Another few moments of silence. "He dothin have any kieth."

The ladder let out a great sigh and some of the younger ones began to make sniffling noises when they were all startled by the sound of a squeaky door opening. Denathira yelped as the tower of creatures came tumbling down upon her.

Groaning and grumbling, all the children looked up to see a baby mouse face smiling down at them through an open cage door. "Why do we need the kieth? Ith unlocked."


End file.
